Edward's Change
by doctor-bacon
Summary: At first, the pain that followed his action seemed to mix in with my already existing agony, but after a few very short seconds, it really began. And it didn’t help at all when he proceeded to rip into the flesh at my wrist and ankle. This excruciating to


So...this isn't my first fanfic, but it's the first one I decided to post.

This was originally an assignment in my creative writing class, something to do with developing characters. My friend and I were going to write about Edward's and Bella's wedding, but I decided it's too cliche. I eventually came to this.

Um..so enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Edward Cullen, his parents, or Carlisle Cullen. These fantastic characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. **

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_Takes place in 1918. The Masen family (Edward Sr., Edward Jr., and Elizabeth) had come to the hospital in Chicago several days ago, dying from the Spanish influenza. Edward Sr. had already succumbed during the first wave of the influenza, and it was only a matter of time till his wife and son followed. The attending physician, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, frequently checked on this family in particular. The way Elizabeth, even in her quickly deteriorating health, always put her son's needs first never ceased to amaze Dr. Cullen. He kept warning her that it was too dangerous for her to be constantly getting out of bed to nurse her son, but she obviously wasn't worried about herself. Edward frequently drifted in and out of consciousness, and he now woke up to see his mother conscious for the last time._

I realized I was awake again when I heard voices in the hospital room I lay dying in. I strained my ears to see if I could distinguish those voices. The first was the melodic sound that belonged to Dr. Carlisle Cullen. The second was the weak voice, the somehow she made it sound strong, of my fading mother.

I forced my eyelids open to better absorb the situation. Even that small movement hurt. Every part of my body ached, and it seemed a million times worse when I moved or stirred, even just a finger. Slowly, I directed my eyes to the right of me, where Dr. Cullen was standing over my mother. It bothered me to see her in so much stress and discomfort, but I knew that soon enough it would be over. But what would happen when it _was_ over? Was there truly a life after this? Maybe our souls just lingered in our bodies after we died. I would have shuddered at the thought, but I knew it would have caused me too much agony.

There were so many things that I hadn't done yet in my life. I knew I was only one year away from being drafted into the war that was raging on then. I was ready. I wanted to fight, but I never had the chance. I also never had the opportunity to experience love. Even as a boy, I was always excited and curious about finding "the one," falling in love, and settling down. That would never happen either.

I managed to pull myself away from these depressing thoughts and tried to focus on the conversation that was taking place next to me. Once again, I heard Dr. Cullen's angel-like voice.

"I will do everything in my power," he assured my mother in a soothing tone, as he took her hand in his. At once, I knew they were talking about me; I was usually the main topic of their discussions.

"You must," she said firmly, clutching at his hand with a ferocious strength. _How did she muster up that energy?_ I wondered. "You must do everything in _your_ power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward." I noticed her voice was thick with implications. Did she know something about this man that I did not? No, it was probably my sickly mind playing tricks, making her words, and meaning, different than what they really were.

But when she said this, Dr. Cullen looked shocked. And I could tell by the way he looked at her it wasn't because he thought she was crazy. Maybe there _was_ something going on…

"I will," he promised my mother. As he spoke these words, her firm grip loosened, and her hand fell limply to her side. She unwillingly closed her eyes, exhausted from exerting so much energy, and most likely drifted into sleep. I knew that in a matter of hours, maybe even minutes, it would be a much more permanent slumber.

Dr. Cullen struggled to compose his shocked face as he glanced over at me. When he did so, his expression contained great sympathy and…something else. It almost looked like indecision. But that made no sense…_My mind must be tricking me again_, I reminded myself.

At that time, a nurse poked he head in the door and called to the doctor. He stole one last glance at my mother and I, and reluctantly glided from the room.

That was one I had noticed. He didn't walk clumsily, compared to most people; he never tripped over his own feet or anything. He seemed to glide, almost float, ever so gracefully. It baffled me. And his looks were another thing; they were probably enough to make any lady swoon, though I suppose I would not fully know. Perfect blonde hair, facial features that looked like they were carved by angels, and his compassionate and calming nature made him seem like he was someone sent directly from Heaven. If there _was_ a heaven…

After that, time seemed to pass by slowly. I drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep every couple of minutes, forced awake by my raging fever of one hundred and four. I glanced over at my mother as often as I could bear, my soreness and pain getting worse, and I noted that she never woke up. She hadn't passed on yet; I could tell by her ragged breathing that she was hanging onto the precipice of life, only by a finger, though.

But that evening, within an hour of that perplexing conversation, her struggled breathing became more pronounced, her one finger slipping off the edge. She let one last breath escape her, and then she was still.

It consoled me a little to know that she was no longer suffering. At least I hoped not. But now, I was alone. My mother and father had become one of the epidemic's many casualties. And I was next. But for the time being, I was completely and utterly _alone_. I didn't like that at all. I silently wished my fever would get so high that my body would shut down perpetually, so that I wouldn't feel this great agony, both physical and mental, that was engulfing me.

Dr. Cullen came in shortly after, and the moment he saw my mother, he knew she was gone. He didn't even bother to check her pulse to be sure--he just _knew_. That puzzled me a little bit. He sighed, turned to me, and softly spoke, "I'm sorry." I assumed he understood that I was in too much pain to acknowledge him and accept his condolences, because he let a small, sympathetic smile play on his lips, and he exited the room.

I tried so hard to tell my body to give up. I wanted it to end. I couldn't take it any longer. I had had enough. I didn't bother to open my eyes anymore, there wasn't any point in checking on my mother.

About an hour or two later, Dr. Cullen came back into our room. He wheeled my mother out, and I knew that the destination was the morgue. He came back for me soon after, which surprised me. Surely he knew I wasn't dead! I really didn't want to spend my last minutes of life in a room full--almost to its capacity--of lifeless bodies, but I was too weak to object. _Maybe he is trying to empty out the rooms_, I thought. _He knows I am a lost cause and needs to make room for other influenza victims_. That thought didn't comfort me as much as I thought it would.

I could tell we arrived in the mortuary when my cot that he was rolling came to a complete stop. I expected him to leave then, leave me to die in a room full of corpses. But what happened was the complete opposite. He carefully picked me up out of the bed and cradled me in front of him, almost like a baby. _What is he doing?_ I wondered as he strode swiftly out the back door and into the chilly autumn air. The brisk cold felt wonderful against my hot forehead and calmed and relaxed me, even as I lay in Dr. Cullen's stone-hard arms that oddly seemed almost as cold as the breeze. I fought to stay awake, but unfortunately I lost that battle and drifted off to sleep, while thoughts of where we were headed meandered aimlessly through my head.

When I woke again, I opened my eyes immediately, despite the discomfort. I was extremely curious to see where he had taken me; I knew we had reached our destination because the gentle rocking motion of resting limply in the doctor's arms while he walked had ceased. There were a few dim lights in the room, which reflected in a strange way off the face of the person that was staring down at me intently. Dr. Carlisle Cullen. I looked around, ignoring my pain again and letting my curiosity get the better of me. I assumed we were at his house. There was a grand fireplace across from the couch that I was sprawled out upon. Spread all around the room were beautiful paintings that looked like they were from the late seventeenth century. For a second, I thought I saw Dr. Cullen on the canvas closest to me, but I ruled it out, deciding that the poor lighting had affected my vision. These pictures fascinated me, but didn't hold my attention for long. The doctor's voice distracted me, and I turned my eyes to him.

"I'm so sorry about this." I could hear the sorrow in this man's musical voice, but I didn't know why. What was he sorry for? He hadn't brought this illness upon my family and I. And it wasn't his fault that he hadn't been able to save my mother, I had already known there was no hope for us. I didn't dare speak, to ask him what he was apologizing for, because I knew that that would only trigger more pain. I stared up at him instead.

"I'm so, so sorry," he repeated, his voice softer and quieter than before. I continued to gaze intently at him, hoping to convey to him that I wasn't about to ask why. He nodded ever so slightly to show that he was about to demonstrate why he was so apologetic.

He slowly dropped to his knees from his previous standing position, and leaned his head over me. He repeated his apology once more and bit my neck.

At first, the pain that followed his action seemed to mix in with my already existing agony, but after a few very short seconds, it _really_ began. And it didn't help at all when he proceeded to rip into the flesh at my wrist and ankle. This excruciating pain exceeded anything I had ever experienced before. Scorching, fire-like torture seemed to ravage my neck, wrist, and ankle while I screamed and writhed and twitched. All the other discomfort I felt prior was merely that, discomforting, compared to what I was going through now.

I wasn't sure exactly how long it lasted, as I had lost my sense of time, but it felt like eternity. All the while, Dr. Cullen apologized over and over again, never once leaving my side, and assuring me that it would all be over soon. I wanted to believe him so badly, but I doubted it was true, and instead begged for death. I just wanted to die. I didn't care how, I just wanted eternal blackness to submerge me, never willing to let go again. Anything to escape the torture I was enduring.

But maybe _this_ was death. Maybe I had gone to Hell. I couldn't recall in my seventeen years of living _doing_ anything to deserve going to Hell, but maybe this was everyone's destiny. I definitely felt the fire everyone had always said existed here, the fire that seemed to course through my veins. It made sense. But what didn't make sense was that Dr. Cullen was here. He was far too angelic and good to deserve this, and I knew he hadn't died, so why had he followed me to Hell, also? At least he didn't seem to be experiencing the same thing that I was…

After an immeasurable amount of time, most likely a few days, I could start to feel the searing pain lift from my toes. I was surprised it began to wind down, I had not expected it to go away. But I was so relieved, nonetheless. When it finally subsided, I realized that all pain had escaped my body, not just the fire, but also the misery I felt before as a result f my deadly illness. I also noticed that I had a lot of energy. I felt strong. Strong enough to jump up from the sofa I had been laying on for who knows how long. But when I did so, Dr. Cullen calmly, but sternly, requested that I sit back down. I got a little annoyed, but I obeyed and awaited his explanation of what happened.

He started off by telling me, once again, how sorry he was and how he hoped that I would forgive him. He then proceeded to tell me my literally life-changing news. He explained to me that he was a vampire--a good one; he didn't feed off humans, only animals--and that he was trying to fulfill my mother's request that he save me. Apparently, he had done everything in _his _power to do so, and there was only one price to pay, from the way I looked at it: my soul. I was now an eternal one, just like him.

I was a vampire.


End file.
